


Mahal's Forge

by I_Will_Go_Down (ZeroToWeirdo)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7135391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroToWeirdo/pseuds/I_Will_Go_Down
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How had the line of Durin been brought so low?"</p><p>The remaining Durins wander Arda, looking for a place to belong, but suffering seems to come hand in hand with the lineage. Perhaps a moment of desperation will lead them where they belong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mahal's Forge

How had the line of Durin been brought so low?

 

The thought swirled like a storm behind Thorin’s brow, clouding his eyes, seeping down his spine and chilling his chest. It was a phantom ache he had grown used to, but at the same time, he knew he could never embrace this coldness. His pride would not allow it, nor would his stubbornness. 

 

Dis used to say that within the chest of a Dwarf lay a forge, burning with determination to create and shape the world around them, whether by heat of intent or by mallet of force. 

 

The ‘world around’ had all but put out that light in Thorin’s chest, but he knew the flame of determination would not die, for all that it swayed and shivered in the cold. Not while he still had a people to lead and the boys to care for. Dis had not been so determined...her forge had grown cold the moment Vili had passed, and she had followed shortly, as was the lot of those with Ones.

 

The thought of his sister, whom fate had so wronged, brought Thorin new resoluteness. This would not be his lot, and it would not be the lot of his nephews...he would not leave them alone to face this world as their kin had left Thorin and Dis. 

 

A fire in his chest did not, however, make his circumstances less bleak. In desperation to better their income, Thorin had taken up with a caravan traveling from the Iron Hills (curse them) to Ered Luin and had brought his heirs along. 

 

Durin’s curse prevailed and the caravan was set upon by Orcs. Greatly outnumbered, the Dwarrows had fought valiantly, but they were fighting a losing battle. Wounded in his shield arm and desperate, Thorin had done the only thing he could when he realised he could not turn the tide of their battle...he had grabbed his sister sons, and he had fled on the nearest stead.

 

Fatigued, wounded and without a coin to his name, Thorin had traded the pony that had carried them from danger and fed his nephews best he could with the proceeds. 

 

He washed his wounds in the ponds and streams that they passed, and eventually the skin knitted, but he knew the strength would never return to his shield arm. In that time, Fili had taken up mantle of caretaker for his brother and Thorin, binding his uncle’s arm with rags and nagging at Kili when he would be unduly naughty or petulant. If there was one thing Thorin would forever regret in the depths of his heart, he knew it would be that Fili had to grow so fast and leave behind his childish ways, if only for the sake of his brother.

 

Their journey had continued on foot, with odd jobs paying for their meals, but the closer they got to Ered Luin, it seemed the more content the Cities of Men were to turning their noses up at him and his.

 

It was with empty stomachs that Thorin found himself at Bree, entreating the keeper of the Prancing Pony Inn to take in at least his nephews out of the cold, and to feed them at least the scraps. The man seemed reluctant to believe that he was not wealthy (for men in this region seemed to believe that all Dwarves piss silver and shit gold) and turned them away as swindlers. His parting words, however, were “Find some simple minded fool elsewhere. Do I look like a Hobbit to you?”

  
The words had brought Thorin to Buckland at sunrise, his nephews in tow, where he had entreated at many a door to allow him some food in return for work. He had managed to get a morsel or two for his nephews from a few pitying Hobbit mothers who had felt their instincts niggling at them, but it would appear that Hobbits (though not as rude as men) were self sufficient and distrusting, and would not let him near their homes or their farms.

 

The sun had set  with only a fragment of a meal for the boys, and nothing for Thorin, whey they arrived at Hobbiton. The rolling hills were wide with flowers, the gardens were small and fenced in. Thorin knew at a glance, even in the dim twilight, that he had arrived in a wealthy region of landowners, for their crops were most likely elsewhere, being grown by other hands.

 

Which was why when the rain started pouring and Kili complained of the cold and his aching stomach, Thorin’s eyes had turned to one of those gardens. Approaching a house surrounded by hedges, he eyed the produce within with keen interest.

 

“Uncle...are you sure?” Fili whispered, eyes wide with worry.

 

“I have been made a beggar...it is not so low a fall for me to be a thief.” he replied, running his hand down Fili’s blond hair before bringing their foreheads together in comforting gesture. “I will be swift. Keep your brother silent.”

 

Now, Dwarves were used to eating things in varying shades of brown, and anything too green and leafy and overly bright just made Thorin highly suspicious, but in his time with men, he had come to learn edible vegetables from poison or grass. He knew that this was a vegetable garden, and a ripe one at that. He jumped over the hedge and drove his hands into the ground in one of the beds, drawing forth some carrots. He shook what dirt he could off of it, and he rinsed it in the downpour.

 

“Uncle!” Kili whined once more, shivering as he tried to back into the hedge a little for some shelter from the rain. Fili just rolled his eyes and nudged his brother with his elbow, but Thorin could see it in his eyes too. The discomfort, the hunger, the fatigue. He was just a child, he had no business trying to hide his pain. Thorin approached them and handed them the carrots and turned to find something else, but was interrupted by the inevitable. 

  
  


“But it’s orange…” Kili croaked, upset as only a child facing a carrot could be.

 

“Kili.” Fili warned and grabbed the carrot. “If you won't eat it, I will. It’s food and I’m hungry.” Taking a bite of the carrot, Fili made a show of chewing it before speaking around the crunchy mouthful, “It’s sweet.” That would do it.

 

“That’s  _ my _ carrot!” Kili protested and yanked it back, too busy taking an overly large bite of the bright vegetable to see the pleased smile on his brother and his uncle’s faces. 

 

“Eat yours as well.” Thorin chastised Fili gently. Soon, the boys were chewing the vegetable with matching looks of discomfort. Was there nothing better he could get them? The tomatoes were still yellow-green and he knew they would be sour to the taste. The potatoes could not be eaten raw, for fear of poisoning. And roses were simply not edible as they were (or not that he knew of). 

 

A flash of lighting in the distance lit up the garden for a brief moment and he found his answer before him...an apple tree, laden with fruit. Approaching it quickly, Thorin found that the nearest fruits were still a good branch or two above ground.

 

“Nothing for it, then…” he muttered aloud and grabbed onto the nearest branch. His shield arm twitched as he raised himself up onto the first branch. Once he had balanced himself, he reached for another branch above him, but it was just out of his grasp, so he did the only thing that seemed logical. He jumped across the remaining space and hit the branch with a jostle. He could hear Fili and Kili’s gasps beneath him, and he wondered (hoped) that his impact with the tree would have loosed some apples. Alas, he was a Durin, and luck did not work that way for him.

 

He decided to get it over with, hefting himself up to sit on the branch and reaching for the nearest apples. No dice, they were still a little high. He balanced on the branch and reached once more, grasping an apple in triumph, when the inevitable happened. He heard a crack, a gasp, and suddenly he was falling through the air. It felt like an age before he heard the loud crash of the branch landing on the ground, followed shortly by his own body colliding with the earth, liberating his lungs of all the air he had with one great whoosh.

 

“UNCLE!!!” twin shrieks of horror permeated the night air. He could hear them scurry across the garden to him. He wanted to tell them to go back, to take cover in the hedge, but he could not breathe let alone speak and a selfish part of him wanted them near regardless of the danger, so he laid still, eyes screwed shut in pain as small hands shook his arm and called him loudly, over and over again.

 

“What is going on here?!” A voice suddenly cried out. Thorin, still feeling the phantom shakes of the fall spasming through his muscles, craned his neck to see a Hobbit standing in the doorway of the house staring at them in disbelief.

 

“Oh my goodness….” he looked from the Dwarflings, to Thorin’s prone figure.

 

“Oh my goodness!” he looked once more to the Dwarflings, spying the half-eaten carrots in their hands, while noticing the single apple in Thorin’s hand.

 

“Oh no, this won’t do.” he announced with finality. He rushed back inside, and for a moment Thorin thought he was going to retrieve a weapon, and for another moment he wondered if Hobbits were any good at fighting. They seemed to be soft creatures, but so did Elves, and they were as frustratingly skilled at weaponry. Whatever the outcome, Thorin hefted himself to his feet and prepared for the barrage of insult and (rightful) accusation that was probably to follow.

 

What he has not expected was for the Hobbit to re-emerge from his house with thick blankets, which he quickly draped over Fili and Kili’s shoulders. 

 

“Half drowned and frozen to the bone, you poor things…” he fussed as he tucked and folded the blankets right up to the children’s necks before turning to Thorin warily and handing him a third blanket, keeping as far from the Dwarf as he could.

 

“Might I ask why you three are in my garden eating my vegetables in the middle of the night, instead of an inn warming by the fire?” 

 

Thorin tried to find the words to reply, but in that moment, shame clutched at his throat, preventing him from confessing their destitution to this strange creature... This Hobbit who, when discovering he was being robbed in the night, decided to clothe his burglars. He had given them what Thorin could not, and Thorin’s bones ached at the bitterness of his failure as a guardian.  Apparently, Kili did not feel the same shame.

 

“We were hungry, so Uncle got us food.” he announced, holding up a half eaten carrot in his fist like a trophy, his face looking defiant as ever.

 

Fili shifted in the blanket, eyeing the Hobbit warily, before adding in as calm a tone as he could with the remains of the cold racking his body, “We can’t afford a room in an inn...we have nothing.” 

 

The Hobbit gasped and looked over at Thorin, down to the apple he was still clutching. 

 

“I can work in recompense.” Thorin declared quickly. That simply earned him a frown and a shake of the head from the Hobbit.

 

“No no no, this won’t do at all. Everybody, inside. This instant.”

 

He marched without another word towards the door, his furred feet padding across the grass without a sound. The Dwarflings shot their uncle a confused look, to which he could only shrug helplessly. He had just as much of a clue what was going on as they did. “Come on, I’m going to feed you, not eat you.” The Hobbit beckoned, which immediately perked the interest of Fili and Kili. After some deliberation, Thorin decided to trust the Hobbit (at least for now). After all...hungry and injured he may be, but he knew he could take on this soft, round creature. And the inside of the house glowed with the promise of warmth...he nodded his assurance to the boys and they rushed forward towards the light.

 

Thorin joined them shortly (still clutching the apple, for at this point he did not know what to do with it) and found himself standing in a homey little house. It was warm, well lit and ingeniously crafted with rounding pillars and arches of wood supporting the entire hill above the house. He and his nephews stood spellbound for a moment at what seemed like a fabled house from a fairy tale.

 

They were so much in awe, they did not immediately notice the Hobbit waiting expectantly for them to follow, a little smile of amusement on his face at the jaw-dropped looks of wonder on the Dwarven faces.

 

“You have a lovely...burrow.” Thorin said hesitantly, for in that moment he quite forgot what Hobbits called their little tunnels. 

 

This Hobbit snorted in amusement at the word. “Small and soft we may be, but Hobbits aren’t woodland creatures, Master Dwarf. This is a Smial, and I am Bilbo Baggins. At your service.” 

 

“I’m Thorin son of Thrain, and these are my nephews, Fili and Kili.” Thorin replied, placing a hand on either of their shoulders. 

 

“At your service.” Fili and Kili echoed mechanically, their right hands over their hearts as they bowed, which was really quite comical as they were still holding their gnawed carrots. It earned a laugh from the Hobbit (Bilbo…) who ushered them quickly into the kitchen.

 

“I was just done with dinner, but I do have more soup ready for supper.” Bilbo announced, pouring three steaming hot bowls (Mahal wept, it smelt delicious) and placing it before the three starving Dwarves. He placed a basket filled with buns (fresh, soft buns, not the least bit stale or mouldy) before them. “Dig-” he managed to say, before the Dwarves attacked the food like starving jackals. The hobbit could only stare in wonder for a moment, before muttering something about fixing up some chicken for the poor souls. 

 

Thorin and his nephews devoured the food like locusts in the harvest, inhaling the soup and happily scalding their tongues in the process, while swallowing down the bread with hardly any chewing. They were just about done with it when Bilbo placed some pieces of grilled chicken with what looked to be herbs before them. 

 

A whole bloody chicken, just for them! Thorin gaped at the decadence while his sister sons dove in with the same enthusiasm as before. Thorin turned to Bilbo to see him smiling at the two boys, a wistful look on his face. He noticed Thorin’s eyes upon him and smiled at him as well.

 

“Aren’t you going to eat? I can make more if it’s not enough.” 

 

“Why are you doing this, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked.

  
  


  
“ Yavanna strike me dead where I stand should I suffer fauntlings to starve to better line my pantry.” Bilbo exclaimed in exasperation.

 

“Fauntlings?” he asked in confusion. What in Arda was a fauntling?

 

“Children, Master Thorin. Though you, as their caretaker, I would happily feed as well. Fauntling though you may not be.”

 

Thorin blushed at the tease and shook his head wearily. “I am no child… I am a thief. Are you not angry that I was stealing from your garden?” 

 

“My dear Dwarf, what is in that garden is vegetables grown as a hobby, and the moment I begrudge a starving family a carrot or two is the day Lobelia’s ghost rises from the grave and inhabits my body.”

 

Now Thorin was just confused. “Lobelia… is that a demon of Hobbit lore?”

 

The Hobbit threw back his head in laughter, a bright and brave sound Thorin had not heard in quite a while, used to harsh whispers and cruel barbs as of late. He found his chest warming at the sound. Better yet, it seemed infectious, and soon Fili and Kili began chuckling, and then outright laughing along as though it were the greatest joke they had heard since their birth.

 

“Oh Eru… a demon… oh, how I wish I could say yes…” Bilbo wheezed and shook his head. “Alas, a Lobelia is not a demon. A Lobelia would be my relative, who happens to believe in ridiculous things such as a class system and equates selfishness with propriety. I have been accused many a time by her of not being a proper Hobbit.” The ease at which Bilbo said this, his eyes and his hair seeming to glow gold in the candlelight, caused Thorin’s chest to flare once more. This Hobbit...this Bilbo...he was warmth in a body, fire on feet, a smithy in skin. Thorin was not sure he had ever seen anything so beautiful, he had to avert his eyes.

 

“Thank Mahal…” he muttered to the empty bowl before him. “Thank Mahal, then, that the garden I chose belonged to you...proper or not, you are the kindest creature we have met in our travels thus far.” 

 

The mood turned somber at Thorin’s words and he wondered for a moment if he had dampened the spirits of those around him, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He found Bilbo looming over him, smile set steadily on his face and his hand’s grasp firm. “Come, let’s get you all cleaned up.” 

 

The three Dwarves perked up instantly at the invitation. He led them to the bathing room, telling them that there was still enough warm water from his heater (which was an iron one, just outside the house, fueled by wood) to fill one tub. They would have to share. They laughed aloud at the concern on Bilbo’s face, amazed that he would think them even vaguely capable of being upset when he had already given them so much.

 

They bathed till the water was cold, and even then, they were reluctant to leave the bathing room. It had been so long since Thorin had seen his nephews without the layer of grime on them. Bilbo returned with towels and ushered them into the guest room, which was human sized (to Thorin’s shock) while he looked for clothes that would fit them. 

 

He returned to what had to be an intriguing sight to a Hobbit. On the bed, Kili sat in front front of Fili, fidgeting with the bedsheets while Fili sat behind him braiding his hair, and Thorin sat behind him and braided his hair in turn. Thorin could have sworn he heard a coo coming from the Hobbit, which was quickly disguised as a cough when the boys noticed him and cried out “Mister Boggins!” in excitement.

 

“I...uh…” Bilbo muttered, looking embarrassed, as though he had walked in on something very private. “I have some clothes...they were mine, back when I was a little younger. They should fit you both well, I should think.” he said and set the clothes down in front of the two Dwaflings, who immediately began to investigate the two sets of day clothes and night clothes.

 

“I-I’m afraid I could not find anything in your size, Master Thorin. I’ve wrung out and hung your clothes in the dry closet, but all I have that could possibly fit you is this, I’m afraid.” He said, looking anywhere but Thorin as he handed a white sleeping shirt towards Thorin. It looked as though it would pinch at the arms and fall just above his knee, but it would be better than nudity.

 

“Thank you, Master Baggins.”

 

“Please, just call me Bilbo.” The rosy blush on Bilbo’s face was all-encompassing, and Thorin wondered if he was a creature simply made of flames.

 

“Then you must call me Thorin.” he replied. 

 

Bilbo grinned at the response and nodded eagerly. “Thorin, then.” 

 

For what felt like the first time in a very long time, Thorin felt his heart beat faster within his chest, fueled by something other than fear. He never knew his own name could make him so happy, simply from who it came from. 

 

“Tomorrow...tomorrow, you must let me work to pay back for this.” Thorin stated quickly. 

 

Bilbo looked close to protesting, but after some deliberation, he nodded.

 

“That branch outside needs to be cleared.”

 

“I can do that.”

“Also, I have a few door hinges that need fixing.”

 

“I can do that too.”

 

“May have a few window sills that need repainting.”

 

“I can do that too.”

 

“I may have a few gardening tools lying around that might need repairing.”

 

Thorin couldn’t help but grin at the searching look on Bilbo’s face, clearly searching for more things to offer Thorin to do.

 

“He can do it all!” Fili announced suddenly, before turning to Thorin. “It seems we’ll be quite busy for some time, Uncle. This house is falling apart without us. We must help Mister Boggins in any way we can.”

 

“Yeah, we’ll help Mister Boggins!” Kili crowed. 

 

Bilbo spluttered at the mispronunciation, but the boys wouldn’t listen, chattering on about how they would fix everything for Mister Boggins, plant carrots for Mister Boggins, cook for Mister Boggins, till Thorin was laughing heartily and Bilbo was red in the face as a ripe tomato.

 

“Really, confusticate and confound these Dwarflings.” he muttered with a shake of the curly head, though a smile threatened to break over his theatrically stern countenance. “To bed with you lot. I’ll see you at breakfast.” with that goodbye, Thorin was alone tucking his nephews into bed, his head dizzy with the promise of a tomorrow that would not be bleak.

 

Kili was out like a light, his brother snuggling in next to him with a faint smile on his fuzzy face, just starting to sprout his beard. “I like Mister Boggins.” Fili whispered before he too drifted off to sleep.

 

“I quite like him too.” Thorin responded to the sleeping child, before lying down beside them. As he stared at the ceiling (a roof over his head, a shelter from the storm), snuggled in a warm bed (comfort as he hadn’t felt in decades) with food in his belly (when had sustenance become a luxury?) Thorin realised that for once, things had gone in his favour.

Perhaps the world was finally shaping itself to his benefit, though not by any force of his own will...no, it bent to the will of a Bilbo Baggins, the Hobbit that deemed himself improper enough to help starving Dwarves when the world would shun them. A Hobbit that would give freely at the risk of his own dignity in the eyes of his kind. A Hobbit with fire in his chest that stoked Thorin’s own in a way he had never experienced before outside of dreams and imaginings.

 

No, it was Bilbo who was shaping the world, and perhaps he shaped Thorin along with it, effortlessly and gently with every flash of his eyes and ringing of his laughter. Perhaps Thorin could finally be in a world where he and his own  _ did  _ fit, like a jewel sliding into place on a crown. As it was, he had a roof over his head, a full belly and promise of more food and shelter to come.

 

“Yes...I quite like him too…” Thorin whispered aloud, a smile on his usually barren face. He really, truly did.

**Author's Note:**

> From the randomly generated prompt: If you had no money to feed your children, how would you go about getting food?


End file.
